Logs:Check up
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| RL Date: 5 February, 2013 |
| Who: Leova, Z'ian |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Tsanth gets his stitches removed, Z'ian and Leova chat. |
| Where: Dragon Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 12, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Cloudy |
| Mentions: Taikrin/Mentions, H'kon/Mentions, Ainslee/Mentions |
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| Dragon Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr The vast cavern has much the same odor of redwort and numbweed as the human infirmary, though here it's seasoned with coppery ichor rather than the iron of blood. It's also laid out similarly though on a much more massive scale, its walls lined with a number of places for patients, in this case large dragon couches recessed into the floor for ease of access; nearby cots provide space for riders. Tucked into the western curve is a huge circulating pool of warm water, by which are kept vats of oil. The healers' duty station is a counter on the north side of the room, a checkpoint before the storage rooms behind it that are now shared with the human infirmary, hosting supplies that are as neatly labeled and carefully scrubbed as the rest of the infirmary. The senior dragonhealer has an office there as well, and human-sized double doors have recently been built as a direct route to the human infirmary, while opposite a wide winding tunnel leads to the east bowl.
It's a quick question passed at dinnertime, a word over the tall bronzerider's shoulder: something's come up, and would they come in early, that evening instead of the scheduled next day? The greenrider doesn't trouble him longer than his answer, not with his meal to finish and her own. Now she waits, seated neatly on a stool, every now and again sliding a glance towards where her green enjoys the heated pools she'd all but swum in as a new-hatched weyrling. They don't make Leova wait too terribly long. Entering the cavern from the bowl, Tsanth trails behind Z'ian eyeballing the cavern and seeming rather chipper for the most part. His rider appears amused as he shoots a look at him over his shoulder. "Hey Leova!" He greets, lifting his hand in greeting. "I hope we didn't keep you here too long for us." The bronze arrives nearby and settles politely on the ground, already extending the wing with the stiches outward. Vrianth splashes, if not so far as all that, before her rider can so much as wave and slide off the stool, crossing to meet them. "Not at all. You're here, hm? Unlike a certain someone who pled to reschedule," and here she detours to Tsanth to examine him, seeing as he's offering up his wing and all. "Issedi this. Issedi that. Fashion fashion babies fashion." Z'ian looks past the greenrider to her dragon in the water, his mouth curves and he smiles lopsidedly. "You'll just have to make their next meeting with you torturous." Since he's next to useless for this part of their encounter, the bronzerider ends up pulling one of the stools over and sitting down. "Yeah, so I heard. Any word on how long our visitors will be staying to uh, enchant us with their company?" "You're not so excited about it either?" However passing the reference, Leova's listening for his tone, just how genuine it seems. While doing other things: doing a roundabout tour of the big dragon just in case anything's come up, then bringing over the stepladder. Washing her hands, again. Gathering her tools, muttering something about getting those stitches out: if Tsanth will hold still enough, anyway. Vrianth's not holding still, her wings arched, water flowing down them in a way that seems designed to distract her rider. Not that Leova's looking. Belatedly: "And no. Haven't heard how long. But they say she didn't pack light." "No, not particularly." Z'ian replies dryly as he watches Leova move around his dragon. He hisses some instruction to the bronze under his breath, one that has him settling down some. Though he's awfully distracted by Vrianth in the background. What is she doing? Can he be doing that too? "I haven't seen them yet. I'd rather we didn't have that type of visitor from the Hold here now. But I guess there's no helping it." Vrianth is doing warm things, warm almost-swimmy things, almost-splashy things. Mostly-almost, anyway: sometimes a few splatters darken the stone, which Leova points out not quite silently is not helping. "With our luck, he or she'll slip on the ice and break a leg, and it'll be all the Weyr's fault." She catches herself frowning, shrugs one-shouldered, and gets back to focusing. To Tsanth, "There'll be clipping, there'll be tugging, you'll be fine." The first snick proceeds to do just that. Tsanth turns his head to stare down at Leova, then over to Vrianth. Then to Z'ian. The man is giving him the you better not even look. So Tsanth doesn't do whatever he was going to and settles as still as he can while the greenrider gets to the clipping and tugging. "That's pretty much what I was thinking. And then there's the twenty-five to fifty percent chance that whoever goes to smooth things over might just insult them instead, somehow. Unintentionally of course." He rolls his just a bit and exhales, once again smiling. This time wryly as he rolls his shoulders. He leans forward on the stool and drops his elbows onto his knees, "You've got a clear mind. You think this weyr is going to go up in flames from all this?" "Of course." It's very dry. Clip clip clip, tug tug tug. Vrianth does not appear offended by Tsanth's holding still, nor does she tempt him otherwise. No, she just radiates contented bliss, her eyes a singularly deep shade of green, that long tail of hers curling an uncurling in the hot water as though stirred by its currents and no more. "It better not," says her rider, after a nearly-as-dry glance at Z'ian for the compliment that's her own sole distraction from the work. It's a big wing, after all. "The onetime Weyrwoman's at Ierne, after all... no, I figure, we just get to the next flight, that'll clear things up. Never mind that it's bound to be at least a Turn away. Skin of our teeth, and all that." "Could be longer. Interval golds don't need to rise nearly as often. Until then... a lot can happen." Z'ian holds his hands, fingers spread before clapping them on either side of his face. The bronze remains still for Leova, keeping his attention elsewhere and off of Vrianth. As best he can at any rate. She doesn't really have to be doing anything to distract him. "I just hope that 'a lot' doesn't happen while these holders are here, snooping around. Fixing the road, whatever." "'Fixing the road.'" Leova repeats it even more dubiously, hushing for a moment to tweeze a cut-off strand off his hide, clip, and then tug the next little bit quickly and cleanly through dragonhide. "Too long." Then, without weight, without any particular reference to all that gossip that's been making rounds, "Going to throw your hat in the ring?" "Not that the road isn't shit or anything." Z'ian does seem to agree that the road is not in great shape, but now of all times? Well. He lets that linger in the air as he keeps an eye on the greenrider. "Me?" That generates a surprised note in his voice. "Tsanth will chase again the next time. Can't stop that. But I'm not actively angling for anything. We've never even led a wing, nevermind the whole weyr." He gives his shoulders a quick shrug. "I'd rather we threw our weight behind someone else, someone we already know that the Weyr will follow. Trust. That feels like the right thing. It's not about us." "This time of Turn, it's muckier than a wher's arse," Leova has to agree. "And it'll just get worse." She eyes the next spot, dabs on an extra touch of numbweed, murmurs something about being almost done. "Trust. Him, K'del, that's who you mean? Not trust them." Then, "Won't say I don't have a wingmate or few who agree. Even though Taikrin, she's Glacier too." Or maybe because. "Don't I know it. They'd be better off working on or inspecting the road during the summer months, maybe autumn." Z'ian comments, almost idly on the matter. He glances up at the wing she's dabbing numbweed on, his eyes narrowing as if he's trying to get a better look at what she's doing. "K'del, yeah." He exhales slowly before giving his head a little shake. "I don't think Pern is ready for the sort of change that this flight imposed on all of us. It was too much, too soon for it to be accepted without some sort of a fight, push back. I can't say that I disagree." Another member of the mutinous bronzeriders, present and accounted for. "Mm. Spring to summer, but a last autumn inspection to catch any holes, that'd work. Though." Leova doesn't look up, but her smile's briefly wicked. "We better not say too much, or they'll put us to work." What she's doing isn't anything out of the ordinary: no tying his wing up instead of taking the bits out, for instance. One stitch bears closer examination, but then... then she's cleaning up, all those cut shreds and her tools dropped into a waist-secured pot for later. "Let me down, and you can stretch, hm?" Tsanth. For his rider, "Is it not any brownrider you'd see as Weyrleader? Or not... these two." Z'ian laughs then, straightening up on the stool. "You're probably right. I'm sure they wouldn't mind getting me out of the weyr for a couple of sevens, yeah?" He rakes his fingers through his hair, still eyeballing that stitch work. He doesn't say anything, maybe just thinks it. Tsanth is obedient for Leova as she goes to get down. "I think that... one at a time, you could overlook their imperfections. But both at the same time is too much. Taikrin is probably the harder of the two to get over. But I don't know if H'kon is much better. He's strange, maybe." Maybe, probably. Down the ladder and, "Taikrin's seemed like she's working hard to be steady," Leova puts out there, matter-of-fact for all that there's that tinge of uncertainty. Not trying to convince. H'kon, she skips. "Reckon it would be easier on them if there were just one. Wonder if the dragons would... look more to one or the other, then. Though Hraedhyth was all about Szadath for awhile there, you felt it?" But it's not to Tsanth she looks, right before she drags the ladder away. It's her dragon, Vrianth's eyes brilliant but unilluminative. "Sure and maybe she was. I don't know her well enough to say anything about that. She does seem to generate a certain reaction in otherwise calm, steady-thinking people." Z'ian points out, not exactly arguing. The hair raking continues, "She was all about Szadath. He picked up on it." There's a glance towards Tsanth, who is now beginning to move around again. "He doesn't recognize either of them. He didn't want to afterwards and now he really doesn't. Though I don't know how much of that is tainted by my own opinion at this point." Leova bites back a smile, none too well. "She does that." By her tone, it's more than half a compliment, if less than half a recommendation. "Mm. I wonder... normally, their gut overrides us, seems like. But I have to wonder." She's been watching the bronze, not his rider, but now she does glance back. "You were eyeing my stitches. Questions? There's a different sort of salve I'll give you for here on, now that we don't have to deal with the stitches. Gentle with it. Twice daily, and once before he sees too much sun, not that we have to worry about that here just now." "I don't know." Z'ian admits, more than a little helplessly. "I guess for now we're just going to have to get by on the skin of our teeth, like you said. Until the next thing happens. Hopefully won't happen while they're here." He slides off of the stool, glancing briefly at Tsanth as the dragon begins to clamber to his feet again. "Oh, no. Nothing really. Just couldn't help but notice there looked like there was an L on my lifemate. But I'm sure that's all in my imagination." Leova gets a close-lipped smile that he directs over at her. "Not at this time of the year anyway." "Would help if we humans could work together even if the dragons aren't in line," Leova murmurs, only to break off with an odd twitch to her brows. "What?" Her gaze looks briefly distant, only to click back into place. "Are you implying... you are. Z'ian. You saw his injury, right? You saw the stitches? You saw how the stitches follow the line of injury?" If there's splashing from the heretofore silent pools, it's only from Vrianth's flicking tail. « Maybe, » she contributes helpfully, « it is instead a 'V.' » Tsanth being the overly verbal dragon that he is, helpfully relays Vrianth's message to his rider. "Oh, maybe it was a V. You know, it's hard to tell from the ground and I don't have a ladder in my weyr." Z'ian muses, amusement playing across his features as he stares over at the bronze. Then slowly passing his gaze back onto Leova again. "Oh, no. Like I said, it might all just be in my imagination. I have been pretty distracted recently." So Leova gestures to the ladder. Grandly. "Go right ahead. I think when you get up there, you'll find a bunch of Z's. You know, to remind you to sleep. Help with the distractions and all." Vrianth: terribly amused. "No, no, no. I trust you, Leova." Z'ian waves his hand, declining to climb up on the ladder at this point in time. "It's all a bunch of Z's. Or maybe V's. Or maybe L's." He flashes the greenrider a bright smile. "But seriously, thank you for patching him back up. He healed faster than I thought he would, likely thanks to you." He gets a narrow look for it, the greenrider reaching to cup the back of her own neck like that would soothe her hackles, only then she's yanking her hand away and hurrying over to the basin to wash instead. "Welcome," she says finally, her back still turned. "Try to stay out of... well, keep him out of trouble, anyway, all right?" Z'ian laughs quietly, under his breath. He has the good manners to at least keep it to himself. "Him I can keep out of trouble. Myself, well. That's another story. You have a good night, Leova." Tsanth sends a so long warble to Vrianth, the green he didn't get to play in the water with. He's a little sad, yes. But he'll get over it. As they're exiting the cavern, his rider stops at the exit. "Oh, say hello to Ainslee for me?" It ends as a question and he lingers just long enough for her response before disappearing out into the bowl. Vrianth's is an electric glint, back to the departing dragon who must go out into the cold, cold, cold, poor thing, He'll survive. Or else. As for her rider, Leova doesn't look back, but she does grunt something like assent. Bemused assent, but a grunt all the same. The only thing she's missing is her flask. |
Comments
Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Tue, 05 Feb 2013 22:59:24 GMT.
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Hraedhyth is still totally all about Szadath. e.e He's the best, don't you know?
Hehehe. Z'ian and Leova are /fun/. And I just love imagining Vrianth not-splashing in the pool. Cute!
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